As John stood in line for coffee, he couldn't help but deduce the man in front of him. He used the skills he learned from Sherlock because, as painful as it was to remember the consulting detective, it would be even more painful to lose all of him. Deducing was one way to keep that strenuous tie.
This man- the one in front of John- was tall. Well he was tall to John. In reality, he was probably a little more than average height. He had a tan similar to John's own. His brown hair was cropped close to his head. He held himself upright, but with a cautious, ready air. When something in the kitchen made a loud bang, he started and reached for his something unseen before shaking his head and breathing deeply. A military man, then. His hands don't move or fidget- they're still. A sniper, maybe.
Then the man turned slightly so John could see his face. There was a look in his eye- haunted, weary, and disturbingly familiar. He's lost someone important.
The man seemed to catch sight of John then. His eyes widened and he cursed under his breath.
"I'm sorry… Do I know you?" John asked, puzzled.
"No, you don't," the man replied. His voice was deep and rough, and there was currently a note of what almost sounded like fear.
"I couldn't help but notice- military?"
The man nodded awkwardly. "Army."
"Me too! I was a doctor. I was discharged because of an injury." He gestured to his cane. The limp had come back after…
John cleared his throat, then held out his hand. "John Watson."
The man hesitated before he took it. "Sebastian Moran."
-o0o-
Sebastian seemed reluctant to talk at first, but John was persistent, and soon the two of them were chatting over their coffee. Sebastian, it seems, had had a friend as close to him as Sherlock was close to John- and this friend seemed to be quite a bit like Sherlock. He was a genius, rather arrogant, and seemingly unfeeling. The friend- Tim, Seb said- had died the same day as Sherlock. Oddly enough, sharing stories seemed to cheer them both up. By the time they left the coffee shop, they'd exchanged phone numbers and made arrangements to go to drinking that Friday.
For the first time in almost three years, John felt connected to someone.
-o0o-
One morning, a couple months later, at some ungodly hour, there was a knock at John's door. (John was living in a new flat, but he still had some of Sherlock's stuff.) He opened it to find Sebastian, breathless and sweating.
"John, I'm sorry to wake you up like this, but I need a place to hide. Someone's after me."
"What? Why?"
"It… It's a long story," Seb replied sheepishly.
John let his new friend inside and locked the door behind him. "Why don't you tell me over tea?"
Seb sighed and nodded. He went over to sit in a chair, but before he could, John shouted, "Don't!"
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Sebastian jumped away from the chair.
"No, it's okay," John sighed. "It's just… that was his chair…"
"Ah."
They sat at the table with their tea. "So?" John prompted.
"So what?"
"So why are you being chased?"
"Oh… Well, John, Tim had a… a lot of enemies. And I helped him make quite a few of them. We were partners in crime, as it were. And many of Tim's enemies are after me now…" He was quiet for a moment as he stared into his tea. "He wasn't really bad, at heart. He just… was hard to understand. When you did, though, it was hard not to like him… even love him."
John put a sympathetic hand on Sebastian's shoulder. Then, suddenly, the front door was smashed open. Seb reached for a gun in a hidden holster. A familiar voice shouted, "You can't hide forever, Moran!" A man rounded the corner into the kitchen and froze. John stood. Impossible. It can't be-
"Sherlock?"